


Of Snow and Declarations of the Heart

by nickelsandcoats



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelsandcoats/pseuds/nickelsandcoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John go on holiday to Aberdeen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Snow and Declarations of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://noirrosaleen.livejournal.com/profile)[**noirrosaleen**](http://noirrosaleen.livejournal.com/)'s prompt [here](http://nickelsandcoats.livejournal.com/122267.html) at my shuffle meme post.
> 
> For , who asked for song #583, which was “Harry in Winter” from the _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ soundtrack by Patrick Doyle.

John woke up and he was _freezing._ He exhaled and grinned a bit when he saw his breath fog above him. _It must have snowed last night,_ he thought as he rolled over and plastered himself to Sherlock’s slightly warmer back. The detective inhaled sharply and rolled over himself, pressing John under his chin and tugging him close to his chest.

“Y’re cold,” Sherlock mumbled as he rubbed his cheek in sleepy affection on John’s hair.

“I think the heating’s gone tits up,” John replied. “And I bet it snowed last night.”

“Mmm. Sleep.”

John draped an arm over Sherlock’s ribs, feeling the younger man’s chest rise and fall against his. He closed his eyes and let Sherlock’s gentle breaths lull him back to sleep.

  
When John awoke two hours later, Sherlock was gone, but the duvet was carefully tucked around him. He smiled and stretched, indulging in the warmth before he had to get out and call someone here at the hotel about their dodgy heating.

But Sherlock beat him to it.

Sherlock burst into the room, mug in one hand, curls askew, unholy glee in his eyes. “John!” He cried as he handed the mug of tea over before dropping down onto the bed. “It snowed, John!”

John sipped his tea and grinned at Sherlock’s enthusiasm.

“Hurry up and get dressed, John.”

Sherlock jumped up and stripped off efficiently, pulling on the warmest clothes he brought⎯a skintight pair of jeans, one of his bespoke shirts, and an old grey jumper. He half turned and looked over his shoulder at John, still sitting shirtless in bed and caught the lascivious stare the good doctor was giving him. Sherlock grinned and stalked over to the bed, leaning down and devouring John’s mouth.

When he pulled back, they were both gasping for air. “Maybe later,” Sherlock purred as he tugged John up out of bed, being sure to press himself against his lover as much as he could. “For now, let’s go out.”

John pouted for a moment as Sherlock peeled himself away.

“Snow, John!”

“All right, all right. But you owe me.”

“Yes, yes. Clothes, then out.”

  
Ten minutes later, dressed and swaddled in as many layers as he could get on, John pulled his hat down over his ears. He tried to get his spare hat on Sherlock, but his lover just scoffed at it and proclaimed he would be “Fine, John. I don’t need a hat.”

He grabbed John’s hand and all but dragged him out the door.

John waited until they’d been outside for a few minutes, watching Sherlock’s face as he stooped to investigate snowdrifts, footprints, icicle length. The cold air was turning Sherlock’s cheeks and ears pink, and it was endlessly endearing. John smiled as Sherlock dropped his hand so that he could better inspect a small drift of snow that partially obscured a footprint.

When he stood up again, John caught his hand and pulled Sherlock around to face him. His breath caught as he took in the _joy_ that radiated out of every one of Sherlock’s pores. His eyes were shining silver in the grey light, reflecting the sheen of the snow in the weak sunlight. His cheeks and ears were tinted pink and he was glowing and it was beautiful to behold. John wished he had had to grab his mobile because he wanted to take a picture of this Sherlock, the one only he ever got to see, and keep it close so that there was no risk of the memory of the way this man looked fading in his mind.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing, it’s just⎯”

Sherlock waited patiently, peering down at him.

John smiled at him. “You’re so happy, aren’t you? I like to see you when you’re so happy you just shine with it, and that’s what you’re doing now.”

Sherlock kissed one of his hands (John was disappointed that the heat from Sherlock’s lips didn’t dissipate through his glove) and smiled back at him.

  
Hours later, they were finally back at the hotel, frozen through. Both their cheeks were bright pink, and when John took off his gloves, his fingers tingled as feeling returned.

The room was warm. John looked askance at Sherlock, who had surprised him more than once today.

“I rang the concierge while you were still asleep and had them stop in to fix the heating.”

“Ah,” John said, hanging up his coat and gloves before he stripped off the rest of his clothes and slid under the duvet, groaning at the warmth.

Sherlock was puttering around in the bathroom, showering and drying off, whistling a bit as he did.

John smiled as Sherlock emerged from the small room wrapped only in a towel, which he promptly dropped before crawling under the duvet and resting his head on John’s chest. John traced small patterns on Sherlock’s back as the silence settled in around them. Finally, Sherlock stirred and asked, almost shyly, “Did you have a nice day, John?”

“I did,” John said, smiling down at him fondly. “I’ve not had such a nice day in a long time. Thank you.”

“I did this for you,” Sherlock said in a rush. “You always talk about how much you miss these quiet times, and I thought I’d give that to you. You deserve far more than a holiday in Aberdeen, but I thought this would do for now.”

And Sherlock had outdone himself today. It seemed like they had tramped over half of Aberdeen. Sherlock had pulled him to a coffee shop after leaving their hotel, and sat with him while they both drank coffee and John ate a scone.

Then, they walked through the city, ducking into various shops to warm up. Sherlock was quieter than normal as he pulled John into shops and coffee shops. They had eaten lunch at a Thai restaurant and then at a cozy, quiet Italian restaurant (almost as good as Angelo’s) for dinner.

As they left the restaurant, full of Bolognese and tiramisu, John had stooped down, formed a small snowball, and threw it with precision at Sherlock’s back. Sherlock, predictably, had turned with a thunderous look on his face, but when he saw John trying to hold back his giggles, had let his expression fade to one of confusion.

“You can’t tell me you’ve never been in a snowball fight,” John said, incredulous.

Sherlock stared at him.

John’s heart broke a little as he thought, and not for the first time, what a sheltered and lonely life Sherlock had led before he met him. _What little boy doesn’t have snowball fights?_ he thought as he bent down and formed another snowball, being careful to let Sherlock see his actions. He threw it at Sherlock, this time hitting him square in the shoulder.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he grinned and started making his own snowballs, firing them with deadly accuracy as John shrieked like a schoolgirl and ran down the street, forming hasty snowballs that fell apart before they even hit Sherlock.

They stumbled into the hotel covered in snow and laughing like loons. The joy was back in Sherlock’s eyes, and it made John’s heart soar to know that he had made that look come back.

And now he was lying here in bed with his husband, tracing small I love yous on Sherlock’s back.

“You deserve to be happy, John, and I know I don’t always make you happy⎯”

“Stop right there,” John said firmly. “I will not hear one word about that. What did I tell you two years ago, Sherlock, when I gave you this?” He tapped Sherlock’s ring.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably.

John’s voice gentled as he said, “I wish I knew what to say to convince you that I am happy with you, that I love you more than I could ever put into words. You deserve to know that, and I’m sorry that I don’t tell you that every day. But I do, Sherlock, and I am, and I always will. Please tell me you know that.”

“I know, John.”

They kissed softly for long moments, lapping into each other’s mouth. When the kisses slowed and then stopped, Sherlock dropped his head back down onto John’s chest.

“Thank you for giving me this. I never thought I’d find someone, but you gave yourself to me, and John, that is one mystery I will never solve. But I love you, John, and I am so glad you chose me.”

John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s head and ran his hand through his curls. “I’m glad you chose me, love. And if I was given the choice, I’d make the same decision every time. There is no me without you.”

“John⎯”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“And I you.”

They settled there together, in the dark, holding each other tightly as they drifted off to sleep.

  
\--Fin--


End file.
